


River Around Rock

by MistressOfJam



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Darth Vader Needs a Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Jedi Luke Skywalker, Stressed Firmus Piett, Sunshine Luke Skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:47:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28896114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfJam/pseuds/MistressOfJam
Summary: In which Luke Skywalker is captured and placed on board the Executor as per Darth Vader’s orders, but boggling was the instruction to not harm the infamous rebel should he attempt to escape.Luke doesn’t want to do anything of the sort: he merely wishes to explore the workplace the Sith Lord had been stationed on, and maybe learn a thing or two about the enigma which was his father.Meanwhile, the Imperials haven’t an idea how such krayt-dragon-esque of a bravery came from this rebel, but much like his father, this Skywalker...has a strange effect over them.(Set during ROTJ, but at a random timeline.)
Relationships: Firmus Piett & Luke Skywalker, Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader, R2-D2 & Luke Skywalker
Comments: 15
Kudos: 92





	1. Luke Is Very Clever And Vader Is Tired

“Luke _Skywalker_.”  
  


Once upon a time on the city amongst the clouds, hearing this serpentine gentleness on his family name would have made him spiral the same way he tumbled down the bolted branches of a cylindrical shaft and into Tatooine-cruel reality; that Darth Vader, Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet, was his father, and had breezed through pleasantries and prefatory matters with a swift demonstration to his right hand instead.   
  


Beneath the black gloving, a phantom menace of a pain pulsed at the recollection, but no longer severe, just as how he didn’t flinch as the Sith Lord before him tilted his head down to no doubt stare into the cerulean clarities that were Luke’s eyes, scrutinising his presence in the Force and in flesh, the thorns of the Dark Side creeping towards the sun-lit signature he possessed. In response to their ambush coiling outside his mental shields that scratched experimentally for his permission, the padawan relaxed his barricades slightly, though not revealing all his thoughts.   
  


_Hello, father,_ Luke whispered kindly across their bond, _it’s been a while, hasn’t it?  
  
_

As expected from his father there was no immediate response (but Luke did not sulk nor hold him against it for that matter), and so, for a long moment the boy basked in silence, deciding to observe his new environment instead. Vader was...not a man of too many words (unless, of course, if he was lecturing the flaws of others as though issues had been dispensed of since his step-up as a walking coffin), but rather, action....such was how he was the Emperor’s enforcer.   
  


The man behold whom was his only parent was no bark but all bite.   
  


Besides Luke, a small squadron of stormtroopers stood idly, two of which opted to be stationed by his sides, occasionally glancing down at his binders out of some ironic fear that the esteemed rebel of the Alliance would perform a parkour trick and vanish from their clutches, not at all characteristic to the slate of death-black visor which merely stared blankly at the boy in return. Around Luke, he took in the shape of the grey docking hangar and the distant, mechanised voices amplified through announcements concerning flight permissions, and Imperial officers, with the gait and grace of clock hands, autonomously strode back and forth the open entrance of the Executor.   
  


Overhead, Luke only wished that the Empire could tone down with the jarring white lights that highlighted everything and anything, coating it in an artificial shine that served only to be gaudy and respectful only in the most shallow aspect in the field of professionalism. At this he briefly tore his gaze away from the black, insectile lenses of the Sith Lord who was silently rifling through his head still, and noticed that his own ‘Jedi clothing’ surprisingly did not blend into the environment despite the shaded black it was dyed and sewn in.   
  


Several seconds later the thickets finally receded beneath the cloak of anger, and the master of the glaring death mask murmured in his head, almost in rumination still, **_i_ _ndeed, my son. It has been...a long while since I last saw you, and your capture today onboard the Executor is as I have foreseen through the power bestowed to me by the Dark Side._**

  
_Then I suppose you’re going to lock me up now,_ Luke composed himself, turning to gaze at the Sith he called father, but his tone was not sarcastic nor did it carry any emotive weight — throughout the months he had become far more emotionally honed, and the shocks and twists of whatever life could drive into his gut or mind were now lost on his calm character, and chose only to smile at the machine-man, _“_ Though, I suppose I actually wanted to stretch my legs a bit after that long flight.”

  
Luke nudged his head towards the recently landed Imperial shuttle that was currently receiving maintenance at the back, and he could have sworn to his own accord that Vader made a noise not too dissimilar to sighing at his blunt request. Moments like these indicated the clearest that beneath the black suit was another man, not a droid.   
  


Luke’s smile erupted into a grin at this hilarious thought, and the Sith Lord pointed his gloved hand at the boy’s chest (his father’s _absolute favourite_ ‘lecture gesture’), “Knowing you, Skywalker, you would likely do nothing short of stirring havoc if let loose, and I, as the commander of this ship, simply cannot allow that to come to pass.”  
  


Luke raised a brow at that declaration, “It’s understandable that you believe that I might take a ship and just..fly away, but I assure you, _Lord Vader,_ that I will most certainly not pull that sort of stunt here. It would be useless to return to where I came from anyway, and I’ve already spent my time meditating in the shuttle I was brought in on.”   
  
  
He was fairly certain that the dark lord was glaring at him through the black-tinted lenses now.   
  


“And you believe letting you access the ship and its room in which contain highly-classified Imperial Intelligence will bring you productivity instead?”   
  


Despite the cuffs, Luke lifted his hands in mock surrender, which had always been Han Solo’s thing, but it was most useful now as he could not retort his father’s evident sarcasm, “I don’t even have the clearance codes! Plus, I came willingly with your men on the behalf that I stand here as the individual that I am, _not_ a representative of the Alliance of a whole.”   
  
**  
_That would be far more believable if you hadn’t happen to be the face of the Rebellion_ , **Vader’s voice was flat; the irony not lost on him. 

  
_That’s debatable,_ Luke replied with a tilt of his head to the side, _Leia seems to be more popular than me in more ways than one, sometimes._

  
It did _not_ , however, mean that he had any sort of ill-will towards the princess in the Alliance. She was a sort of sister figure to him, and there was no lie in that statement whenever he felt protected and protective of her in a lot of scenarios. In some strange sense, now that he thought a little about it, Leia...vaguely reminds him of...Vader himself. They both seem to share a calculative, scheming mindset in war that may or may not be a coincidence.....  
  


**_The princess is nothing short of a traitor, and you’ve chosen to affiliate yourself with her, Luke, and I am not granting you access to roam around my ship still._**

_  
You’d figure me the second I snuck a peak at those top-secret files anyway,_ Luke added exasperatedly through the telepathic link between him and his father, _And I promise I won’t be sticking my nose where it shouldn’t be...as well as not making unauthorised escapes from your ship...and any possible mischief so forth._

  
In the past he would have screamed his head off if he was reeled in by Darth Vader of all the individuals in the Empire, but there was no room for lie and deceit at the moment, partially due to the fact that the Force looked upon Luke, and it told him that all was ready and steady as he could ever hope to be.   
  


So he trusted in the Force and hoped his father trusted him as well, even if his father just happened to be one of the most self-justified, paranoid man in the existence of the galaxy — Luke really had no interest in being locked up and await the day Vader brought him to visit the Emperor ( _because_ , the Force told him, _today was not the day where all three of them would determine the winner of fate yet),_ nor was he here to steal some obscure Imperial data for the Rebel Alliance, as mentioned before.   
  
  
He hoped his genuinity rang clear in the tides of the Force.   
  


More expected silence was met through the force bond before Vader crossed his arms as he regarded the stormtroopers, “Take him away, but ensure that no harm comes to him, or you shall all pay the price with your lives.”   
  


”...In the rebel holdings, Sir?”

  
”Yes, and should Skywalker escape, do not fire nor attempt to stun him. He is a valuable asset to the Empire, and I will see to it _personally_ if any of you fools go against my orders,” Vader turned, the cape of space curling behind him in a dismissive wave, his heavy steps echoing down the quiet hangar. 

_  
**Don’t cause any trouble** , _Vader warned tightly through the Force-bond to Luke, and the image of the Sith Lord pointing his finger as usual at him like a child still lingered for a few seconds in his headspace.   
  


Luke smiled a little, letting his relief be felt at the fleeing turbulence which was still his father.   
  
  


X  
  


The holding was clean, but blackness greeted him curtly once he was nudged to settle in. The cell was...extremely small, as expected, but Luke was at the point where he couldn’t even extend his legs fully as they folded against the opposite wall of the single seat. If he stretched out his hands, he could touch the cold, under-designed surfaces of the cell, with nothing but the placid hum of ventilation accompanying him, whirling thin flakes of dust into the air from time to time.   
  


The cuffs on his hand were starting to burn, though.   
  


With a trick he learned by himself in one of his many Rebel excavations, Luke focused on the specific crook of the locks, and with a push in the Force, the binds clicked open, clattering to the ground. Rubbing the red soreness circling his wrists, the infamous Rebel pilot glanced around the holding, checking for any possible grates that could allow his size to crawl out of.

  
To his dismay but not surprise, the only grate on the ceiling was of course the ventilator, which had a whirling fan positioned right above it that would ensure another Bespin tragedy if he tried to budge it. Except from his thoughts, the cell was quiet, and the grey hallway beyond its keep equally so. Luke noticed that his arrival onboard was not perceived any differently. There was no ‘mass commotion’, so to speak, but the careful whispers relaying his presence was detected through his observation of the Executor crew members.   
  


In the midst of nothingness, save for the hurried clicking of panel controls, the ship was dead silence.   
  


A part of Luke wondered how many rebels before him had been trapped here, in this very same prison, in this very same vacuum of _nothingness,_ with the misfortune of being dragged out days or even hours later when their usefulness had expired, or when a Moff signed their lives away. The thought made him sigh, and he gently placed a palm on one of the four walls, easing the unjust deaths that cried out through the Force, even now.   
  


He was a Jedi, and out of all its principles, the responsibility to help those in need stuck with him strongest.   
  


And one day, he would save his father — he was certain of it not only because the Force told him so, but as well as the fact that he was the son of that Sith, who had the heart of a Jedi long ago. Luke considered it deeply, the currents of rumination bubbling, attempting to drag him under into hours of meditation once more about the urgent, as Yoda himself mentioned that no Sith could nor ever return to the Light once they had affiliated themselves with the Darkness....But to what extent could this be true? His father was no ordinary man, and the bits of history dispersed through the cycling universe point to Luke that Anakin Skywalker had been the definition of _impossible,_ with stories of his Jedi feats and stunts that remain unrivalled by any other due to a vague, forgotten prophecy.   
  


...So, would it be so implausible that he can still be saved?   
  


Thankful for his shields as these thoughts spilled easily, Luke mentally noted these thoughts of assurance, pushing them back to the back of his head for more thinking... _after_ he explored the Executor _,_ of course. Such an opportunity was hard to come by for him to be in his father’s presence without clashing about politics or any Force shenanigans. 

  
Getting to his feet once more with a jovial spring, he rolled his shoulders, blinking with slight fatigue against the indifferent white light before leaning towards the one-way exit and entry doorway, which was really more of a slab of void glaring at him without all the charms of the stars and suns. He smiled to himself, putting his hands on his hips, as he did these days before a challenge of any sort.   
  


Then, with a feigned, frantic shout, “Excuse me, I think I sprained my ankle! I am in severe pain!”   
  


“Pipe down in there,” was the response he received, along with a thump against the door from, presumably, one of the stormtroopers outside with their blaster. Luke full heartedly ignored the blatant warning, grinning as he continued his dramatics. 

“I must have hurt it on the way in! I would appreciate some help or a trip to the Medbay!”   
  


“You’re a rebel. You’re not receiving any help from us.”

  
“It really hurts! Help!” He winced audibly and exaggeratedly, “I think I’ve dislocated it!”   
  


There was a grumble, and then the blast door hissed open, and his assigned stormtroopers to the cell stepped into the holding, blasters warily cradled in their arms despite Vader’s initial warning, “Look, you think this is the first time some rebel scum said they’re in pain or whatever—”

  
A pause: The two stormtroopers stared at Luke as they realised one thing simultaneously: There _wasn’t_ a sprained ankle, and the boy was smiling up at them as they knew the bait was taken.   
  


“You feel very sleepy,” Luke remarked at the both of them, waving a hand across their black, T-shaped visors, “You want to take a six hour nap back at your quarters....and you won’t remember this...” 

  
“I‘m...tired,” one murmured to the other, the slight, mechanical undertone falling flat, “I don’t know about you, man, but I’m definitely heading back to bed.” He lowered his blaster, slotting it back to the strap of his armour, “See you in about.. six hours.” The other quietly followed suit, murmuring about overworking and how he couldn’t function properly without enough rest. 

  
As they turned on their heels and into the opposite direction of where Luke intended to head towards to, their stance shaky and exhausted all of a sudden, Luke nimbly exited the holding, his steps unheard in the white noise of space. He was quite guilty that he had performed a mind-trick on an ordinary mind, but he assured himself that his given command was nothing malicious nor harmful at the end of the day. The troopers would tuck themselves in and resume their normality when they wake up. To Luke, six _hours_ of their absence was more than adequate.   
  


The door snapped shut behind him, and the tour of the Executor began. 


	2. Luke Skywalker Is Very Nice To Talk To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke explores, and Piett works. 
> 
> They both collide, in a sense.

Piett gazed out the large port window, his hands arranged behind his back, but not particularly brooding on anything.   
  


Around him, the main crew of the Executor were quietly working, their hands forever stuck and limited to pressing the few range of buttons that provided them the utility of function and oversight of the ship’s well-being. Some others were reserved in their calculations of this month’s total efficiency from the other crew members in general, while some were impertinently muttering to themselves and updating the Imperial base concerning Rebel activities despite staring at a black screen for a radar that, to Piett, seem to mean nothing much other than foresight, in a sense.   
  


Space was cold. Jarringly so, as the warmth of his hand seemed away from his body the moment he touched the window pensively. He rarely thought anything of it — it was his daily routine, comprising of reporting to Lord Vader any intercepted data, filing in the rest of the paper work that did not come in any less amount despite his ranking...and that was about it.

  
The work came, and always was, in abundance, so it was somewhat productive for him, despite it being a one-two routine. 

  
The matter of sleep was an obsolete block that did not quite fit into the shape of his schedule, as it was for most of the staff he glanced to observe aground the bridge. To see the moon and suns of the galaxy from a comfortable place meant that the presence of time significantly slowed, even if he realised he was wrung to the bone fatigued at the end of of what a ‘day’ would be, and food had..quality, he supposed, but it had been...Ah, he forgot the days since he last ate anyway. 

  
Not that it mattered too much. 

  
He inspected his grey uniform of service and found pride in it. It was practical, even if it was not..colourful. The collars were always buttoned to the throat (this brought up another, more _unpleasant_ thought concerning a certain man of power and his ability), and it conducted nothing short of unity and tidiness from the other Imperial Officers, and the pockets were made just right to slip in pen or two for any emergency load of paperwork. One might think he was remotely excited of such ‘boring’ matters, but in truth Piett merely reflected these things at hand as a thing to be observed, much less fell strongly about.   
  


In his brilliant seize of shirts and work, he almost leapt when someone tapped his shoulder for attention.   
  


“Admiral Piett, the Supreme Commander needs you to sort through these papers,” a tired man which was an ironic parallel to himself stared at him, his hands clutching awkwardly a thick stack of paperwork (with a red band tied around it to mark its tier of significance, or urgency) towards Piett. It was not rare for a ‘messenger’ to march up to him with such things — Lord Vader, surely, would not waste his own time by delivering it personally, and send other staff members in his place to carry it out instead.   
  


“I will have it done as soon as possible,” Piett answered tightly, hugging the load of the paper in his arms as to not any spill through, before the delivering officer saluted, and stalked off out of the bridge’s entrance. Aside from that extremely brief exchange, the bridge returned into numbing silence.   
  


Time to return to paperwork.   
  


X  
  


So far, the Executor was very spacious, but Luke thought it was also a bit strange despite its obvious design for maximum practicality — there were windows upon windows on the corridor walls, and everytime he peered out, he was met with unchanged blackness that reminded him of the prisoner holding. It all felt very lonely to him. Battalion of stormtroopers streamed past and through in preparation of their newly assigned location at some planet (he did not catch the name, but it has to do with the Outer Rim) presumably as reconnaissance, their blasters loaded and polished.   
  


He watched them go swiftly, observing through the cracks of conveniently placed cleaning closets that had nothing more than decommissioned cleaning droids, reeking strongly of sharp cleaning liquid that could only be faintly detected on all the halls he trespassed since he became accustomed to the smell quickly.

  
The ventilation on the ship was effective, he gave the Empire that. 

  
Yet, his father worked here half of the time, and some unfathomable pain clenched his heart at the thought that the Sith Lord was stationed here, overseeing more than what a human could and should for his work portion, plugged with endless wires and breathing apparatus while checking through papers, entertaining himself with nothing but the port windows that glared black into his own lenses.   
  


He wondered what he was doing right now, in fact, and sent an inquisitive but gentle brush towards the machine-man through the Force, hoping it did not alarm him since..well, for the hundredth time, Vader was an incredibly paranoid individual when it came to things like these. The last thing Luke wanted was for him to blast him out of his head in fear that it was that old Palpatine who was attempting to pry again.   
  


**_What is it?_** The response was surprisingly quick, and Luke smiled slightly as he stepped out of the closet (the heavy march of troopers long passed, fading into the direction of the hangar he was brought in), noting the masked tinge of worry in Vader’s voice. Vocoder or not, it seemed that it went unfiltered, even if unintentional. The question thrown to him tapped delicately at his shields, as though in affirmation that the person he reached out to was currently up and about.   
  


_Nothing, actually. I was just...wondering what you’re up to,_ he held himself out of the sheer cold of the corridor, his Jedi clothing not providing too much of warmth despite having it dyed black. He continued to glance around and take in the design of the ship, and from an observer’s viewpoint he was the worst at blending in, and he looked as though he was a lost stowaway onboard instead of the “Rebel Pilot Who Blew Up The Death Star”, his expression reluctant and his cautious movements more than suspicious, and in the bleakness of the hallway he was a shadow personafied, a strangeness out of the shadows on the drab walls.   
_  
_

_Sorry if I disturbed you or anything, I’m just curious,_ Luke added, scooting up to the end of the hallway before slowly checking for the presence of any wandering Imperials in what appeared to be _another_ hallway, but this time lined with rooms, and an increase of Imperial Officers strutting about importantly. 

**_  
I was preoccupied, but it is no bother. I also sense that you’re...anxious. Are you in danger?_ **

  
Ah, he almost forgot his know-it-all father could also feel when he was on guard or when he was lax — Luke quickly leapt into a closet the second the last passing officer vanished into the previous hallway. _No no, I’m fine. Just having a bit of a hard time navigating your ship since all the places look the same. The amount of Imperials don’t help, either.  
  
_

_**Then perhaps you should have stayed in your holding, instead of foolishly endangering yourself to be caught by them** , _Luke sighed to himself at the reprimanding, **_These men are armed while you’re not.  
  
_**  
The ‘not’ was _definitely_ highlighted in an underline, circled with markers of at least four different tones of red, and then scribbled with a black box around it for specifics. **_  
_**

_  
I can protect myself,_ he assured, and then verbally aloud, a whisper to himself in the small space of the trillionth cleaning closet, “I know a few tricks anyway.” ****

  
**_You have much to learn still despite your training being complete. Need I remind you that your Jedi tricks are no match for the power of the Dark Side—_ **

_  
...I’ll be fine, don’t worry,_ Lukewas not about to have that conversation again because he liked having a peace of mind, thank you very much, and the conflict of his father having a polar opposite opinion in Jedi teachings was climbing the ranks of his issues with every mention of it even if he was determined to save him, _There are a lot of things to see I guess, but I’ll be careful. Everything is so...grey that I’m afraid I’ll bump right into one of your men without even realising it!_

  
The last line was an _attempt_ at humour, but Luke had been told his jokes were horrible even by both Leia and Han, and relaying something like that now to the dark lord was... another joke on its own. Han and Leia would never believe this. They were going to call him crazy and then the rumour that he told Vader of all people a joke was going to circulate in the Rebel base. 

**  
Your concept of** **humour is atrocious,** Luke had to stifle laughter at the deadpan of a response from the Sith, **_Mingling with the rebels have quelled more than just your common sense, I see. In any case, if you require me, I..will be at the Bridge. I have faith you shall stumble upon it even without my instructions.  
  
_**

_I can sense you through the Force, but these layers of walls keep me apart sometimes. I’ll look for you later,_ Luke considered openly, pausing in his tracks as he felt a gathering of multiple life forms in the opposite hallway that was divided by the panel of walls, and willed them to walk the other way instead of turning into the one he was exploring. 

The Executor was...a little bit of an exaggerated cake. It had many layers between, with some more vacant than the others, and between these same divisions cramped a billion intricacies: working Imperials, a trillion buttons that incited his curiosity, a thousand levers of different consequences, a good many break rooms with sweet-smelling drinks, and tens more of blast doors coming up with every hundred steps. 

**_  
I shall await your arrival,_** was the response, followed by a few more seconds of silence, but he sensed that the Sith was struggling to say something else, and remained quiet, not too bothered by it as he multitasked with the occupation of steering people away from this corridor. 

  
And then, very softly, almost inaudible, a whisper of affection directed only to him:

_**  
Take care, my son.  
**_

_That_ caught Luke right off guard, and he was one who rarely jumped at things people said these days after focusing his skills on meditation being in a constant state of acceptance, but before he could reply to it, the thorny, apologetic bramble of a presence slithered frantically back to their master, the blackness along the spindles crawling shyly away from the son of light after the ordeal, and became undetected once more beneath the rocking sea of the Force.   
  


Even when the machine-man eventually ended the connection with his own reluctance, Luke still lingered, _reeling,_ somewhat surprised at the fondness of the signing — a complete 180 to the stiff attitude from before at the hangar, where his father was most likely, in his twisted sense, fresh from the revelation that he captured his son again and was slightly _panicked_ concerning whether or not Luke came in unharmed and had chosen to hide his worries in a mask of snappiness (as some actually parents do, as seen by Luke himself on his years on Tatooine). 

He stood there, stunted with his fists at his sides, and his expression frozen in the moment of his thoughts. 

...But he would not deny there was a good feeling in his own chest upon hearing those unfamiliar words that were so uncharacteristically said from a man of power and destruction even if it was unaccustomed to Luke’s ears, and he felt his chest slightly warmed by it. The four simple, common words lit his heart ablaze with tenderness, and it made him soar with renewed vigour. 

_Take care too, father.  
  
_

X

  
By the time Admiral Piett had finished sorting through the assigned paperwork of was and what-nots, he clicked his pen to retract the nib and tucked it proudly back to the uniform’s pocket, patting it. He had successfully divided the stack to three parts, the same amount he applied to the rule of thumb for such work as well as any personal or general priorities he did: on hold, important, and urgent.

He stared silently at each of the three arranged mountains, memorising which was which to hand over to Lord Vader afterwards. Though he did not fancy bragging of his materials and wealth, Piett regarded himself highly in organisation, loyalty, and compliance. He had observed while he was still a new Ensign that officers often had a tendency to rush through things, which was fairly understandable given the unpredictable and often violent mood swings of their Supreme Commander, leaving papers upon papers in a spiral of confusion and terror, blotched with coffee drops and explosive, uncooperative smidges of fountain ink in their need for speed.   
  
  
So Piett did the opposite: he adapted his schedule, turning slots for sleeping into slots for work, minimising his talks to strictly business, as they would remark. He would sit in one corner, undisturbed, but always ensuring his work would be completed on time, and help as often as he could with the superiors not in a sole effort to merely _appease_ them, but to show that he was an available man. A willing, to-do asset of the Empire.   
  


And, perhaps it would be complicated if Piett claimed he desired quality over quantity, but the Empire was...in his heart, hidden away from the talks of the crew, the latter over the former, and it was obvious in the abundance of everything they desired: the stormtroopers, the star destroyers, the Imperial politicians, the amount of pilots, officers, spies and messengers that come in a sea of heads each year was enough to make him question a lot of things.

  
Not his loyalty per se, but a secret, inquisitive curiosity even from a man like himself to see some changes in the government of the Empire. Perhaps something more effective, his thoughts suggested, such as— 

  
His string of thoughts, a sort of hobby in his spare free time between the times he completed work instead of resting because he was fond of giving his mind to work just as much, came apart and scattered like beads across his headspace as he heard a noisy series of blats and mechanical screeching outside his work room.   
  


“What is going on,” he murmured to himself, a brow raised as he stood from his seat, pushing himself away from the desk and to investigate the hazardous racket just beyond the door, the heat of lecturing incompetent and trouble-making officers at the ship’s private sector accessible only to highly important officers alike for work and private meetings building in every step and spring.  
  
  
The doors hissed open and he leaned outwards, eyes scanning the tiny surroundings for the source of the noises, and noticed a man towering over a black, Imperial-registered droid unit, his back facing the esteemed admiral. He had blonde hair ( _wear a cap, at least_ , Piett absently thought) and was trenched in an equally dark shade for clothing that seemed, from this angle, to fit the stranger’s skinny physique, and — was he arguing with a _cleaning_ droid? 

  
“—calm down buddy, it’s alright. I’m really sorry I bumped into you earlier—”

  
A high-pitched whistle and an unintelligible firing of beeps. 

“Excuse me, this is the Executor’s private sectors reserved for certain crew members only,” Piett finally stepped out of the room, crossing his arms, and his sudden presence temporarily ceased the nonsense, “Do you mind identifying yourself and your rank?”   
  


The stranger turned around, and Piett’s demeanour dropped, along with his expression.   
  


“Oh, hello,” Luke Skywalker, prime enemy of the Empire with a billion credits labelled on his public pictures, poster-boy of the Rebel Alliance and the destroyer of the first Death Star greeted pleasantly and cheerfully, his cerulean eyes glistening with boyish delight, “Is this droid yours? He’s quite colourful with the language he uses.”   
  


On cue, he used a hand to pat the dome of the black droid, which spun around viciously in response at his touch, “He’s a little shy I guess, but I find him rather unique. He reminds me of my own R2 unit.”   
  


Piett had to mentally pull back his scattered sense of sanity into something whole before he could function properly, his words spluttering at first in shock and sheer surprise at Luke’s existence before his very own eyes, so close that the admiral could feel him within an arm’s reach, “W-What are _you_ doing here?!”   
  


Just as the grey-dressed man was hysterical, Like quietly examined him: he was a bit lanky, wore a grey cap to signify he was still on duty, had eye bags beneath his scrutinizing gaze, and possessed an incredibly jittery nature. 

  
He looked as though he forgot that the practice of sleep existed, this Imperial. 

The admiral, on the other hand, was getting a little concerned. The rebel terrorist had the audacity to blink and stare at him with a strange, child-like wonder of an expression, “I’m just here to stretch my legs and see things.” 

  
“I am reporting you at once to Lord Vader." Piett stood a little straighter, pointing a finger indignantly at the boy, “You’re a terrorist in the eyes of the Empire, and you’re now trespassing on Imperial property, _Luke Skywalker.”  
_

  
Subtly, he was already reaching downwards, his fingers grasping around the barrel of his own blaster pistol that was strapped beneath the hook of his belt strap. There might be no time to call in for the stormtroopers, not unless he wanted Skywalker to flee, given his legendary status as a man who was constantly slipping through the fingers of the Empire.

  
Yet the rebel remained unaffected by the threats and charged crimes, and instead broke into a small smile at the admiral, “You’ll take me to Lord Vader?”

  
Insane. The rebel was more _insane_ and possibly suicidal than Piett imagined him to be. No one in the history of his line of work had ever entertained the idea of meeting Vader as something excitable, yet the galaxy’s most notorious criminal was before him with that unrivalled dosage of enthusiasm that was _almost_ disgustingly contagious had Piett been a more sentimental man in his lifetime. He was definitely sweating from some unknown reason, _cold,_ clammy sweat from anxiety while Luke remained calmer than ever. 

_  
“_ Yes. Now along with you,” he nudged at the rebel with his pistol, “You have a lot of explaining to do.”   
  


“Can we take the droid with us, at least?” Luke cast his gaze back to the unit with alarming ignorance, the droid now purring and rotating around his feet impatiently, bleeting and whining in binary, “He seems like he wants to come along, too.”   
  


Piett felt his sanity slip, if only a little more, at the boy’s blatant request. This job was...sometimes not good for his health.  
  


“I see no reason as to why I should permit that,” he huffed, glaring at that whirring machine which oddly, detected his hostility, and began to scream a series of binary curses at the admiral, “It could be an accomplice of yours, waiting to...zap me when it has the opportunity to.”   
  


“He won’t hurt anyone,” Luke defended the thing, “And it’s not a battle unit or anything. I myself come unarmed, admiral. Take me to Lord Vader if you wish, but let it follow us. It’s good company.” 

  
“Skywalker, I don’t care about the horrid droid. I just want to report you to my superior, who happens to be the commander of the SSD Executor ship, if you’re not aware,” Piett relented with a sigh, shoving the barrel of the pistol closer in warning, but not truly intending to shoot as everyone had received orders that Vader specifically wanted the pilot alive and unharmed right after the incident of the Death Star Explosion in the past.   
  


“...Alright. Lead the way,” Luke offered another smile, holding out his hands as binders clicked themselves onto his wrists once again. It was a good day to bring binders with him, Piett complimented himself, because Skywalker was a _very dangerous_ individual, according to the briefing weeks ago.

Then he walked side by side the captured rebel, maintaining some distance from him in case he got any funny ideas, and started to guide him to the Bridge. The droid trailed behind them, zooming in and out of their pace occasionally, and sometimes purposely ramming itself onto Piett even though they were technically on the same side of the war.

  
Whatever Luke had over machinery, thankfully, had no sway over human beings. 

...Piett hoped that deduction was true anyway.   
  
  
“You can put the gun away, you know,” Luke spoke up after a while, glancing towards Piett, who paled everytime he looked at him for some unknown reason, though his voice injected no dosage of the Force, “It’s not like I have my lightsaber with me anyway, and it must be tiring to keep holding that thing.” 

  
Piett decided to ignore him.   
  


“What’s your name? My name is Luke Skywalker, though everyone knows that by now,” he tried again and grinned at the uncertain admiral, “I don’t see a name on your uniform, but you must be very high in your ranks, right?”   
  


“I’m an admiral, as you said,” the older man whispered, not wanting to get caught _chatting_ to a rebel of all things, “And my name is _Firmus Piett_.”  
  


“Firmus Piett,” Luke repeated the given name, nodding to himself solemnly, and Piett could not see what he intended to do with a single name at all, considering they were not colleagues, so addressing him as such was not mandatory. He could not stop questioning the rebel in his head, but he could not bring himself to physically ask those questions, because it was not his role to do so. Yet still, the curiosity was growing, especially concerning the boy’s relaxed but not malicious attitude. His posture was slightly hunched, but not crooked with the burden of the knowledge that he was in danger.

  
Piett wondered about it, truly, and just as he thought the gravity of the situation had finally silenced Luke, there came another question. 

  
“By the way, Admiral Piett...you work for Lord Vader, right?” 

  
Piett turned to look at him with a stern expression at the very bizarre inquiry, and found that there were practically stars in the boy’s sky-blue eyes. Eyes that held nothing but curiosity towards the man in the subject, and perhaps, if not mistaken, even adulation to some degree.   
  


That..that can’t be right. 

  
He adjusted his uniform collar and cleared his throat, “I do work for Lord Vader — he is the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy and fleet.” (Luke noted to himself that the admiral had spoken the man’s title with honour and respect, keeping it away for rumination.)

  
“Well, what kind of a person is he like when he is working?” Luke shifted his hands in the binders awkwardly as he queried, though he betrayed no signs of physical discomfort, presumably the admiral not tightening the binders too much, which he was more than alright with. 

  
Piett gave him a look of unmasked surprise — when was Vader _not_ working, silly? The implications of it were very strange, and stranger still was how this was coming from someone in the Alliance, though not asking anything partial to classified Imperial information. Though he should be silent, something goaded at Piett to respond to Luke, _something_ insisting to him that it was a totally harmless conversation, and he felt slightly more at ease with the unknown assurances. 

  
Still, he decided to be careful, even though the respect he had for Lord Vader accumulated after years of witnessing his work first hand jump-started within him, “He’s a very demanding individual, as you can imagine, but he is nothing short of a genius when it comes to just about anything I can recall, really. Not only is he talented, but he is also very skilled. Onboard the ship, he expects a lot from us, so we must always deliver, as he does his own part as well.” 

  
”So he’s very responsible and dutiful?” 

  
“—Intelligent _and_ strategic as well,” Piett added to the list without missing a beat, reminiscing briefly on that time whereby Vader made a critical decision that turned the tide of a semi-significant battle near the Outer Rim. Luke nodded again, but with another enigmatic grin on his face this time. He relented, for he could not detect any particular intent from him that implied that he was harbouring malice against the face of the Empire.  
  


“Do you _like_ working for him then, Admiral Piett?” The Jedi stepped aside a little, letting his newfound droid companion roll in front of him instead of abandoning him behind, “They say he is not an easy man, but you regard him quite highly, in my opinion.”   
  


“He isn’t,” Piett found himself agreeing with a nod, ignoring the rational, unemotional part of his head which lectured him to stop conversing with a rebel, “And I..I do like working for him, I suppose.” It wasn’t a lie, Luke realised, this man..was very loyal to his father, and respected him more than some Imperials who would ever come to do so. 

  
“You sound like you admire him a lot.” 

  
“I do, Skywalker. I do.”  
  


Luke began to take a particular liking to this anxious admiral already, “But what do you think he thinks about _you_ , then?”

  
“Me?” The admiral paused at this and returned a quizzical look, doubtful, “I wouldn’t know. I don’t think he _thinks_ anything about anyone, actually, given his busy nature. And..And I’m just some admiral who is replaceable, you see, so truthfully, I believe I do not hold any significance to him.” The hundreds of ensigns flooding in from the Imperial Academy was ever the reminder that if he dared to fall behind, he would be lost in that sea of better people.   
  


“That might not be true,” Luke informed mysteriously, and Piett raised a brow at that bold statement, “He doesn't openly...give praise or tell you that you’ve done a good job since he doesn’t show his feelings a lot, so people tend to mistake him sometimes for a droid when he really isn’t. He just forgot how to communicate, but some..some people are important to him.”  
  


There was a far-away look in the boy’s eyes, shrouded in some sternness of thought that was not visible before.

  
”And _how_ do you know that? You speak as though he is no stranger to you, to _us_ ,” Piett protested feebly, occupied with what Luke had just commented about Lord Vader. Could it be true? Certainly, he had rumours that there was a man, a human being beneath the confines of the black coffin of a suit, but he always had his doubts, especially when Vader did not quite stalk like a man nor talked _like_ a man, but of a cold, abstained thing that simply knew a lot, and was wiser because of it. 

  
“I just _know,_ ”was the rebel’s answer, and it made Piett think some more. 


End file.
